Ded Reckoning (10 page)

"Aye."

 

 

At home, outside the kitchen door in the back of their cottage, Danny whispers to Sean.  "We will do as we've been asked.  For now.  But if Paddy is not home soon ...  in a day or two, we will do what we must."

Sean nods.  "That we will."

"Until then, stay close.  And beware, because we will be watched I assure you.  It is the way of The Army."  Danny opens the door and he and Sean quietly enter to see a plate of mince-meat tarts on the table and a tea kettle about to whistle on the stove.  And two cups for the pouring.

 

 

Pisces quietly enters his study and finds Rocco standing, waiting patiently, just inside the door.  "Evening again, Rocco."  He looks around carefully.  "The room looks fine.  Tidy.  Not a trace.  Is everything else done?"

"Yes, except the disposal.  I will do that early tomorrow morning.  I will take the boat out and dump them. We can trust them, one and all.  They're part of the DeStefano clan and have much to lose if found by the authorities.  Here or at home."  He pauses for a moment, then in a more quiet and cautious tone says, "Boss, you should have used less a caliber in here."  He pauses, a worried look creeps across his face.  Seeing no reaction, and getting no comment, he continues.  "It would have done the job and not been so messy.  Bruno's brains were all over the books and shelves, and the bullet fortunately was lodged in your large Atlas and not the woodwork."

Pisces stares at Rocco for several moments, then smiles, "Yeah, you're right.  Poor planning.  But then I truly don't give a shit.   The Walther was all I had in the desk.  So, more mess, who cares but you.  You are only chewin' on my butt because you probably used an ice pick upstairs.  Right?"  Catalano pats Rocco on the back.  "Talking about planning, have you ensured ..."

"Yes, sir.  They are tied, taped and bagged.  Canvas.  I will weight them down once on the boat.  They will stay down.  We'll leave about four in the morning.  Before the fishing boats go.  And we'll stay out and do some fishing.  The crew likes to fish.  We'll give them a little vacation this way."  

"I should have given them Anna first, then dump her.  They would have enjoyed the  fishing much more."

"Perhaps."  Rocco pauses, then allows a slow grin to cross his face.  "Perhaps it's not too late."  And after the slightest of moments bursts into laughter.

Pisces follows, roaring and chokes out, "You are worse than me, Rocco."

"Yes, perhaps. But seriously, Bossa, you stay here and be seen all day, by someone other than Gina.  Maybe go into town.  Take a walk."

"Good.  Done.  I'll do that.  Anything else?"

"Yes.  I've called Carmen Messina.  He will work for us.  He's overjoyed.  I suggest bringing his sister and her son as well.  She can cook and keep house.  The boy can work here as a yard man.  And, he is a fine auto mechanic already.  Can work on the cars and also drive on occasion.  Also the boat engines, and perhaps spell a crew member from time to time.  I will put them up over the garage and I will move into the main house."

"Good.  Good plan, but, you move into Gina's room when you return.  She can move to the room next to mine ... For the time being.  Until I decide what is best for her."

Rocco says, "Done."  Starts to leave and declares, "I will take care of things tomorrow, then I will leave for Pisa late in the day to get Carmen and the others, and will deal with Antonio while I'm there.  
Buona notte, Signore Catalano
."

Pisces nods and to make Rocco feel more at ease for the moment speaks in Italian, saying, "Tell Gina to come in and bring my brandy with her.  
Per favore."
 

Rocco nods agreement as Pisces closes the door quietly.  Roberto Catalano walks to the huge, soft, rust-colored leather couch on the far side of the study.   Sits, leans back with his hands clasped behind his head.

What is best now for Gina is me.  Later, we'll see.  

There is a soft tapping on the study door, then it opens quietly and slowly.  Gina slides through, brandy bottle and snifters in her hands, bumping the door closed with her butt.  Her sheer gown is open in front and swishes off to the side from each of her long legs as she prowls across the tile flooring to Pisces.  This is not new, but now she moves more confidently, not as a cat stalking a predator but one that has already captured her prey and is going to feast.

"Roberto, love."

 

 

Sunday started early for some, like Rocco.  It ended early for others, such as Bruno Costa and Anna Catalano.  For Gina it also starts early, and for her it continues longer than she anticipated, however this is the first time she has had Roberto purely to herself so that shouldn't be unexpected.  Pisces is not a young man, but still a hunter and in superb condition, perhaps starving.  Droughts can cause hunger of all kinds.

 

 

For the Shanahan lads and their worried mother, Sunday is simply too long as it is.  For the elder Muldoon it's an early mass.  For the son Conor, it will be one that he will remember for its burning aftermath.

For Paddy Shanahan, it never came.

 

 

Samantha McGee never saw Sunday's morn.

For Hunter Kerrigan it is a late morning and a surprise.  As he ambles down the hallway from his bedroom toward the kitchen he smells fresh coffee brewing.  Then hears sizzling and trailing behind the sound, the aroma of bacon.  The sounds and the smells are enhanced by a freshened and a dazzling Antonelli Teresa DeLuca Columbo standing in white slacks, a green silk sleeveless blouse and white-strapped sandals.  Black hair glistening in a bit of light coming through the kitchen window that faces East.  Hunter stops short of the kitchen.

Before he can speak, Dee says, "Good morning, Hunter.  I'm sorry for last night.  For yesterday.  For everything.  It was a horrible day, and night.  Let's start fresh today; fresh for the days or weeks ahead."  She pauses, tilts her head, holds each leg of her slacks  between her thumb  and forefinger, curtsies and says,  "What say ye, laddie?"  Smiles coyly.  "Is that in the Irish enough?"

"Close enough for an English version.  However, in the interest of not wasting any more time, sorry, let me help get set up."

"Okay.  Let's just eat in here.  In the booth in the kitchen.  It's nice and cozy.  Quiet.  And we can talk and figure out our next step, or two, or more.  So, set the table,  please."

"Done.  Let me just check for messages first.  Okay?"

"Hunter.  Come here, first."  He does.  Dee puts her arms around his neck and shoulders; hugs him; and pats him gently on the back.  Whispers, "Pals?"

He pulls away, shakes his head, "Pals," and turns and strides toward his office and the closet.

Dee murmurs, "Maybe more than pals."

"I heard that, Pal.  I heard that.  Nothing gets by the Hawk," and he closes the door to his office.

Dee murmurs, "Think so, huh?"

And this Sunday has time left on the clock.

CHAPTER 7

 

"If you can choose what to bring to a gunfight,

bring a long gun and a friend

with a long gun."

A gunfighter's rule

 

 

Hunter's chat on the phone reveals little new.  Zachary tells him they know for sure that Herman Mueller, aka Aries the CIA turnaround agent, was stabbed with a pick-stick, the type workmen use to pick up litter.  Then Joe followed with, "However, what killed him were two shots to the head, close in, assassination style."  He continues by telling Hunter that there were no witnesses, except if you consider Alberto, the owner of the restaurant.  Pauses, then says in virtually a hiss, "He must have known something because he and his entire family were found slaughtered.  The local police have no evidence but suspect a local artist named Roberto Muscarella only because Interpol says that is an aka for a known assassin.  To us, he's Pisces."

Hunter interrupts the monologue.  "Joe, this is weird.  Did I tell you about the dream I had?  Actually it was..."

"No, some other time, pal.  This is important stuff I'm giving you."   Joe Zachary goes on to notify Hunter of the villa outside of Pisa that Muscarella leased that is now empty.  And of a leased flat in London and likewise empty.  Joe suggests that Hunter plan a trip, as an author doing research. Before Hunter can comment, he says, "Since your ID hasn't been compromised, nor you, let's go with it.  Be easier and cover your travel."  

Hunter frowns, pauses, then asks, "Not compromised?  What about yesterday?"

Zachary tells him again that the incident was related only to Samantha, her father, and he being there was coincidence to the PIRA.  Joe emphasizes, "That's who's responsible."  Then, "Pisces, and anyone that works for him doesn't know you from Adam."

Hunter asks, "What about my father?"

"Well, of course he knew your father.  Certainly knows the name Kerrigan but you're not using that name and he doesn't know you.  Never saw you.  Doesn't know anything about you.  Shouldn't be an issue."

"Shouldn't.  Would of, should of, great.  Personally, I believe the man is a lot smarter than you think.  I'll give you the IRA crap. The PIRA on the other hand is a hard-ass group of nasty-minded, irate and unforgiving Micks.  They or someone will remember Patrick Shanahan, if that was his real name and I suspect it is, or was.  Hell, he's a KIA in a war.  Kin doesn't forget nor forgive in that part of the world.  They are at least in the top five of assholes per square foot."  He pauses, laughs, then chuckles, "Hells bells, my grandfather still hasn't forgotten Pearl Harbor.  He won't serve a Japanese person in his bar.  Calls 'em 'damn Japs.'  It's embarrassing.  Anyway, I'd bet Pisces is always tuned to these frequencies and may even have done a job or two for them.  And to think that no one knows my real name here is just not true."

"Who besides our people?"

"The people who were with that Oboe clown.  My friend Bradovich.  Sam.  Dee.  Probably all the police that were here.  That's for starters."

Zachary replies, "According to our Intel, Pisces is not hooked up with the PIRA.  Never has been.  Don't worry about the rest.  We've got your back."

"Really?  Got my back? Who had Sam's back?"  Hunter pauses, then, "And where does the agency stand on APSF?"

"What?  APSF?"

"Never mind, go on."

Zachary's voice changes from business-friendly to a cold-listen-to-me tone.  "Hunter, knock this stuff off.  We need to get this job done."

"Joe, listen to me.  This is important and it's strange.  Did I mention to you this dream I had Friday night?  The night before..."

"Was it wet or dry?  How's that for an APSF line?"

Hunter pauses more than a moment.  Then, "So you get it.  Dammit, Joe, this is not a joke.  It was more a nightmare than a dream; a once in a lifetime nightmare.  In it I was in Pisa and I was..."

"Hunter.  Okay.  Good.  Then you should know Pisa well.  Now let's move along and get this job done.  No more wet dreams; no more dipping pigtails in inkwells; no more dipping ... screwing your handlers; no more IRA.  Go find and terminate this Pisces asshole or I'll get someone else and you can get out of the business.  Am I clear?"

"You're clear. I'll have a plan and will see you Wednesday night.  I'll call first.  Have a nice Sunday, Joe.  Take Ruth to church or something and read a book on nightmares."  He hangs up before Joe Zachary can respond, then heads to the kitchen.

There he slides into the booth, and Dee puts a cup of coffee in front of him and says, "Give me a few minutes and I'll have your 'chow' off the griddle and on the table.  How do you want your eggs?"

"Do you get nervous when people don't listen to you?"

"Yes, speaking of which, how do you want your eggs?"

"This is a conspiracy," shakes his head. "Over easy will be fine and plenty of bacon.  Thanks."  Sips the coffee, "Hmmm, good.  Thanks, pal."

"Be nice.  I heard you.  We'll talk later."

"I will be nice.  I am nice.  At least I was once upon a...oh geez...there it is again.  I'm goin' nuts.  I need some time to unwind, clear my mind, and think.  How about we go to the beach today, and then I'll take you to dinner at the Hotel Del tonight?"

"Are you serious?"

"I'm serious."

"Wow!  Hu ... Hun ... Hunt ...," Dee takes in a deep breath and states matter-of-factly, "What I was about to say was, Hunter, you bet.  And, how about this? I know a friend of Angelo's that will give, give mind you, me a room at the Del.  We can go over, change, go to the beach, then back to the room, clean up and have dinner.  They have a great beach there, you know."

"Yeah, I know.  Been on it and all up and down the Strand.  That's Navy Seal territory."

"That's all great.  I mean, whoopee, or Ooh Rah, or something.  I get nervous when people don't answer the question.  Don't you?  Is that a yes?"

"It's a yes.  Great plan, pal."

"Be nice."  She walks to the table, says, "Here's chow."  Puts the plate with three eggs, over easy, yokes unbroken and the whites looking like rink ice without the logos.  No signs of grease.  Seven stripes of bacon and two pieces of toast, buttered.  She leaves, is back in seconds with hers and slips in the booth across from Hunter.

Hunter says, "Looks great.  Smells better.  Why seven strips of bacon?"

"It's Sunday."

Hunter shrugs, says nothing and begins to eat the first strip of bacon by hand.  His face shows there is a thought inside somewhere, but it just hasn't snapped on yet.  Dee takes a bite of her bacon, chews and swallows hurriedly, then says, "The seventh day.  Time to rest.  Seven strips."

"Yeah, I got that.  Makes sense."

"Not really.  Hunter, I love the Del.  Love it.  Can't wait.  Particularly the patio restaurant overlooking the tennis courts, and the beach, and the ocean.  I love it all."  Stops for a moment letting her cat-like smile begin to spread, then coos, "It is so romantic.  I hope the moon is out.  I'm goin' to wear something that will knock your eyes out.”  The smile reappears, "It's been a long, long time."  She pauses, then quickly adds, "I'm doin' it again, huh?"